


"Garcia told me you had a migraine."

by dontbelasagnax



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Doctor Who - Various Authors
Genre: Best Friends, Chronic Pain, Doctor Who References, Fluff, Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gender-neutral Reader, Headaches & Migraines, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbelasagnax/pseuds/dontbelasagnax
Summary: You peek your head out from under the covers to see the rough outline of your best friend sitting at the foot of your bed."Spencer?" Your face contorts into confusion. What was he doing here?





	"Garcia told me you had a migraine."

**Author's Note:**

> This was therapeutic to write since I suffer from chronic migraines. I just needed some fictional comfort.  
> My other fics are currently on hold because I've been having migraines everyday and simply don't have enough brain power to finish them right now.
> 
> The book referenced is called "Now we are Six Hundred: A Collection of Time Lord Verse" written by James Goss and illustrated by Russell T. Davies. 
> 
> I own nothing but the reader character and the plot of this work.

You wince at the blinding light shining through your window. The morning sunlight sends a searing pain through your forehead. With a groan, you roll over and tug the covers over your head. The sound of your own voice reverberates in your head, adding to the pain.  
  
It really is a blessing to wake up with a migraine.  
  
Not.  
  
You press a cold hand to your forehead to try to alleviate the pain. You really don't feel like getting out of bed to take painkillers.  
  
You could just lie in bed for a bit longer and try to will the migraine away...  
  
That thought is abruptly ended by your alarm setting off.  
  
The blaring noise is deafening in the otherwise silent environment.  
  
"Fuck you." You curse aloud, as if your phone is sentient.  
  
You blindly reach for your phone and swipe the screen to slience the onslaught, sighing contently when the alarm ceases.  
  
As soon as you roll back over, Garcia's ringtone sounds.  
  
"My God.." You huff, thoroughly frustrated. Was a quiet morning too much to ask for?  
  
"(Y/L/N)." You answer while pinching the bridge of your nose.  
  
"Morning sunshine! We got a case...it's a messy one. Just icky." Her sunny disposition was put on hold as she mimed gagging.  
  
You audibly groan. There is no way you are going to be of any use to the team in this state.  
  
"(Y/N)?" Penelope queries  
  
"I'm sorry Penny, I have a migraine. There's no way I can come into work today." You let out a deep sigh and anxiously rub your forehead. If the case is really that bad, the BAU is going to need all hands on deck.  
  
"Oh honey bunny, I'm so sorry. Don't worry about coming in today. I'll let Hotch and the team know. Ooh and I'll make a card with lot's of glitter and cheesy jokes and force everyone to sign it!" You hold the phone away from your ear with a grimace at the last sentence. Garcia tends to get excitable, which was normally adorable, but right now it just physically hurt.  
  
"Thanks Penny-"  
  
"Oh I gotta go, Hotch needs me in the conference room. Talk to you later. Hugs and kisses!" Penelope abruptly ends the call, leaving you no time to reply.  
  
Tossing your phone to the opposite side of the bed, you pull the covers over your head and curl into a fetal position. The warm haven under your blankets makes you feel safe. Not willing to leave your cozy bed, you tightly shut your eyes to block out any and all light. Your mind wanders as you lay in silence.  
  
These migraines really suck. You would much rather be stopping serial killers than dying of a non fatal medical condition. Hopefully the new case wasn't anything too difficult and was only, as Garcia said, "icky".  
  
The sound of a lock dissengaging and a door creaking open catches your attention.  
  
Your eyes shoot open in panic.  
  
You are used to people visiting, but the only people with keys to your apartment are currently working a case.  
  
The soft pitter-patter of footsteps can be heard nearing your bedroom. Whoever the intruder is, they have long strides.  
  
Your bedroom door slowly creaks open.  
  
You cringe. This really wouldn't be the coolest way to die.  
  
The footsteps draw closer.  
  
You hear the blinds being drawn.  
  
The footsteps resume their journey towards you.  
  
The other side of the bed dips under the weight of someone.  
  
Your gun is locked in the safe in your living room. You are so done for.  
  
But then you hear a familiar voice speak in a hushed tone. "(Y/N)?"  
  
You peek your head out from under the covers to see the rough outline of your best friend sitting at the foot of your bed.  
  
"Spencer?" Your face contorts into confusion. What was he doing here?  
  
He seems to read your mind.  
  
"Garcia told me you had a migraine."  
  
"You didn't have to-"  
  
"(Y/N), you can't cope when you have a migraine. Someone needed to take care of you." He sounds so genuine that it melts your heart a little bit.  
  
"But the case-"  
  
"I have everything I need work it from here." He gives you the sweetest smile.  
  
"Okay," you concede. It isn't fair that he can manipulate you like that. All with his adorable little smile.  
  
"Have you taken your medication yet?" He asks knowingly. You often lack the will to get out of bed when you were in this kind of pain.  
  
"Nope."  
  
Spence gives your leg a reassuring squeeze before rising from the bed and retreating from your room.  
  
You hear pills rattling and a swear coming from the kitchen. He must've dropped one. Bless.  
  
A few minutes later, he comes back to your room and hands you the pills in a clear cup. You grab your water bottle off the nightstand.  
  
"I found naproxen, sumatriptan, and propranolol. Is that it?"  
  
"Yep, thank you Spence."  
  
Taking a sip from your water bottle, you down the pills in one clean gulp.  
  
"I'm going to make some tea, want some?"  
  
"Yes please," you reply with as much enthusiasm as you can summon. You know he is only making the tea for you. He hates the hot herb infused water.  
  
The door shuts quietly as heads to the kitchen.  
  
Hopefully the pain will lessen in the next couple of hours, although it is unlikely. Oral drugs rarely help you, but you still give it a try.  
  
A few minutes pass and you hear the kettle whistle. Loudly. The noise quickly stops and you silently thank Spencer for being so considerate.  
  
You pick up your phone and check the time. It's already eight, where'd the time go?  
  
You hear the tell tale sound of the toaster jumping into action.  
  
Only about five minutes pass until Spence enters the room again, carrying a plate and a steaming mug of tea. He sets the tea on the nightstand and passes you the plate of toast.  
  
"I figured you hadn't eaten yet and it seemed like a productive way to let your tea cool down," he explains, motioning to the buttered toast now in your hand.  
  
"Thank you Spence, it was really thoughtful."  
  
He simply smiles and exits the room, probably to study the recent case.  
  
Although you don't have much of an appetite, you much on the toast and wash it down with the tea. Spence is surprisingly good at making tea considering he doesn't actually drink it. He probably read how to make it somewhere. That seems plausible.  
  
Sadly the harsh movement of your jaw aggravates your migraine, so you push the half eaten toast aside. The tea is sweet to the taste and delightfully warms your insides like comforting fireplace.  
  
Before long you feel the need to use the restroom. Damn that tea.  
  
You slide out of your toasty bed and immediately feel a rush of cold air. The wooden floor is so cold that it's almost painful. You feel goosebumps forming on your bare legs. Hugging your midsection, you hobble to the bathroom.  
  
In this moment, you are beyond thankful that the bathroom connects to your bedroom.  
  
You pad into the room and sneak over to the toilet, not bothering to flip the light switch on. You have the floor plan memorized from the amount of times you've wandered around in the dark.  
Finishing your business, you remember the next step. Flushing the toilet.  
  
God, you really hate this part.  
  
Face fixed into a tight grimace, you push down on the knob. The loud pressurized whoosh seems deafening in your overly sensitive state and shoots a sharp pain behind your eye.  
  
Well that was most certainly an adventure.  
  
You walk to the sink and thoroughly wash your hands. You have a tendency to touch your face during a migraine and you don't feel like dealing with acne too. When you are done, you take the opportunity to splash some cold water on your face. The tap water stings as a few droplets fall from your eyelashes but the few seconds of relief from intense head pain make it worth it.  
  
You walk back into the bedroom and plop onto your bed.  
  
A feeling of restlessness washes over you as you starfish on the bed. Why can't your body just lie in peace?  
Patting the nightstand, you grab a pair of sunglasses and slide them on in preparation. You hop off the bed and tread across the room. You shuffle into the living room slowly, the sunglasses only mildly muting the sunlight shining through the windows.  
  
Spencer is sat on the sofa, phone in hand, seemingly texting. A case file lies open in his lap and a few crime scene photos are strewn across the coffee table.  
  
You lean against the doorway and admire his focused expression in the natural lighting. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, as per usual when he's deep in thought. A strand of hair has flopped in front of his eye but he pays it no mind. His legs are crossed, ankle resting on the opposite knee. He's since abandoned his converse shoes and his mismatched purple polka dot and solid green socks are on full display.  
  
You poorly stifle a laugh. Spencer's eyes snap up to meet your's. He quickly puts away the crime scene photos and shuts the case closed, placing it on the coffee table.  
  
"Don't stop on my account." He ignores your statement in turn for slipping his phone into his pants pocket and giving you his full attention. His hands are now clasped in his lap.  
  
"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be resting?"  
  
You unceremoniously collapse next to him on the sofa. "I tried but I started feeling restless. Figured I'd be better off spending time with you."  
  
A text alert chimes from his phone. He pays no mind to it.  
  
"You gonna get that?" You motion to the cellular device in his trouser pocket.  
  
He shrugs. "It's probably just JJ with an update on the case."  
  
"Isn't that a valid reason to check it?"  
  
"It can wait."  
  
"You're sweet." You lean your head on his shoulder, missing the way his cheeks turn bright red at your compliment.  
  
"Just being a doctor." Spence tries to reply nonchalantly.  
  
"No - being a doctor is diagnosing a patient or killing Daleks. You are being a good friend," you retort, jabbing his chest with your index finger for extra emphasis.  
  
He chuckles lightly; music to your ears, even with pudding brain.  
  
A comfortable silence falls over the two of you.  
  
"Would you like me to read to you?" Spence speaks after awhile.  
  
"Yes please."  
  
Spencer is amazing at reading aloud. Unlike when he reads silently, he slows down and gives you time to process the words. He really gets into character, adding just enough emotion into the dialogue and makes each character's voice unique. It's like listening to an audio book with different actors.  
You love it even more when Spence reads you poetry. His voice sounds so eloquent and soft. It's a bit like he's reading you a lullaby.  
  
"Which book?"  
  
"Can you read the new Doctor Who poetry book? It's on the kitchen counter." You lift your head from his shoulder and smile meekly up at him.  
  
He nods and reciprocates your smile. Quietly rising from the sofa, the lanky man disappears through the doorway and returns with the book in hand. He sits down in his previous spot.  
  
"I've been meaning to buy this, but I haven't gotten around to it yet," Spencer comments sheepishly.  
Sliding your sunglasses off, you place them on the coffee table beside the case file. You flop over so your head rests in his lap.  
  
"Hmm," you noncommittally reply, silently willing him to start reading. His lap is surprisingly cozy.  
  
He lets out a small chuckle before starting.  
  
"Beforewards," Spence pauses and starts reading the passage, "Dawn came to the Thousand Year Wood. It had snowed again, as it always did. Figment poked his head out..."  
  
The sound of Spencer's soft voice and pages turning, accompanied by the feeling of a warm hand stroking your hair soon lulls you into a dreamless slumber.  


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and a comment, it brightens my day to read people's reactions <3
> 
> Btw this is my first Criminal Minds fanfiction and I'm not sure if I portrayed the characters correctly :/


End file.
